Perch @perchingpath@eldritch.cafe

Refuge in flowers and fake leather, refuge in claws and blood, refuge in cider and garlic, refuge in snowstorms and cold water.

A game, possibly best suited to other women with a diminished but extant interest in men:

1. Remember the last at least mildly famous man you were attracted to, and do an image search.
2. Ask whether the 1st resulting image of them shows any hint of what drew you. If not, consider the 2nd, the 3rd, etc.
3. Write down the number at which you answer affirmatively, if any, and stare at it as you'd stare at an untidy circle of blood & feathers on the snow outside your home.

I ordered a finial riser from a place down in Texas & it arrived in an envelope strongly redolent of barbecue.

one taloned foot digging for traction as she's buffeted back towards the creek, wings above madly shoving at the air behind her

It's good to feel a gulp of cold water travel down the esophagus. A viscera voice saying something unworrying for once.

Being incapable of shouting is a ludicrous weakness. I need to be taken to practice at a... shouting range.

God, I hadn't been to a show where people sang along en masse in years & years. Shouting "BUT THERE IS NO FUCKING FUTURE" in unison with that many people is an awfully good thing to do.
I mean really I still don't know how to shout (or sing), but I did my damnedest.

A suggestion for the next time you (or I) change your (my) name: pronounced as "Giselle", spelled "Chisel".

Snow/snow/snow.

Just came within a 15° bag-tipping angle of adding ~25 walnut-sized chunks of ginger root to this tomato sauce instead of the portobello pieces I meant to grab, at which point I'd have had to shovel in butter & cream cheese until it became frosting for a vast semi-savory cake.

The paint-on windows with the optical fibers that seep through walls are getting cheap, and I read that if you spread the slurry out thin & hit it with a uv light for a few hours before you add the activator packet you screw with their inside/outside sensing. I'm glad I don't live on the first floor.

"Now stand like bigfoot in that one still from '67."

Frilled, anemonish tissue expanding from the esophagus in ridges, clipping through the skin'n'bones without rupture, radiating seven inches in all directions, quivering in currents otherwise unknown.

Sometimes as you step into the cold after a show you need to turn to the first stranger who'll meet your eye & tell them that straight people shouldn't be allowed to touch each other in public.

What gives my dreaming vividity is, misfortunately, the precious circumstance of going back to sleep while already well-enough-rested. Today I found a haunted ship while wandering in the woods, and given the choice I'd have stayed there. Nearly all my good dreams are of places.

I was disappointed not to hear a pop as her needle went through my tragus. My ears are topographically magnificent and I'd hoped for a noise to match, something on a par with the clack of my bootheel on marble.

All food that rots is an offering.

Actually I've been getting musclier because I want to be able to walk for miles in a perfectly straight line, lifting every object, structure, & living thing obstructing my path & gently setting them to one side.

"Thank you! Thank you for calling me scary!"

Everything's lit and I can hear child-riotousness in the distance.

Pretty sure someone just shot me with a BB gun while I was toting my gallon of ear-soaking water past the lumberyard. Happy mischief night.